A/N: This is a disgusting mix of the Victorian and Regency period – I've combined the two and ignored any real version of England's history. Anachronisms and errors abound – some deliberately. Oh well :)

A/N #2: This is by no means a finished piece (obviously) but also by no means do I intend to finish it any time soon. In fact, I'll probably take the idea, mix it around a whole bunch, and write a real novel out of it. Someday, I'd like to make money from my writing, which I can't do with fanfiction. (Do you hear that, DC?? I'm not making any money off of this!)

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Despite his friendship with Clark and Lois, Bruce decided that a ball thrown by the Marquis and Marchioness of Kent was just as boring as any other. And, noting Lady Ravenswalk bearing down on him with her two daughters in tow, just as filled with eager mamas ready to catch him and hogtie him into marriage.

He looked around for an escape, and finding none, pasted a bored expression on his face. It wouldn’t deter the woman – a bored Earl of Gotham was as nuptially appealing as an interested one, no matter how scandalous and rakish the ton thought him – but maintaining the expression allowed him to concentrate on something other than the woman’s inevitably ceaseless prattle.

Lady Ravenswalk raised her fan in greeting. "Lord Gotham! How fine it is to see you here."

Bruce bent his head in acknowledgement. "Lady Ravenswalk," he said.

"Milord, you must allow me the pleasure of introducing you to my daughters, Amelia and Amanda." The girls stepped forward, and Bruce obediently bowed to each. Lady Ravenswalk continued, "Amelia is my oldest, and came out last season, but this is Amanda’s first season."

"I’m sure they are as accomplished as they are lovely," Bruce said, looking over the girls’ heads. Odd, that the Viscount Ravenswalk had allowed both of his daughters to come out at the same time. Usually, the peerage waited until the first daughter was married before introducing the second. It could, Bruce mused, be an indication that all was not well with the Ravenswalk coffers. The younger girl was incredibly attractive, much more so than her sister; no doubt the Lord and Lady Ravenswalk were counting on that beauty to catch a rich husband with, in order to restore their finances.

Thinking of the fickle, shallow nature of the ton, Bruce knew it would be relatively easy for the beautiful Amanda to find a husband – it just wouldn’t be him.

"Of course, we would have introduced Amelia to your lordship last year, but you were not in London, or so I understand." Lady Ravenswalk’s tone was faintly accusational, as if her husband’s financial problems were partially due to Bruce’s absence during the last Season, and his failure to meet and marry her older daughter. He could almost imagine her saying, "You were not around, and so did not marry my Amelia, so now I and my oldest daughter are forced to endure the humiliation of marketing our beautiful Amanda." When, in truth, Bruce knew that the viscount’s gambling habits most likely had led to their financial state, not a lack of husbands.

"Yes, milady, I was at my manor in the country last year due to an influenza." In fact, he had been recovering from a bullet wound received from one of Napoleon’s guard, but no one but he, Clark, and a few others had known of that mission.

Lady Ravenswalk made a tsking sound. "I imagine that you are particularly susceptible to illness from the years you spent abroad." She shuddered delicately. "I can not imagine the squalid conditions you must have lived in as you traveled through those horrid places: India, China, and those heathen Arab countries."

Bruce fought a smile; he could smell the underlying body odor that the viscountess tried hide with her perfume. He wouldn’t point out that the bathing habits were much better in the countries that she had mentioned, nor that parts of London – in fact, much of London – could compete with any slum in the world in terms of sheer depravity and squalor. Nor would he point out that he was far more familiar with those parts of London than England’s polite society would appreciate – in fact, he was sure that if he did mention some of the scenarios and conditions that he had seen in London’s slums, Lady Ravenswalk and her daughters would faint dead away.

But, as pleasing as the thought of them unconscious on the floor might be, he would never tell anyone of his nightly forays into the seamier side of London.

Aside from those, of course, who already knew of them.

Lady Ravenswalk continued, "Although I must say that your ventures abroad have been very profitable, Lord Gotham. Your ships are seen coming into the harbor nearly every season. Although usually I am not approving of merchant activities, I must admit that you bring a much needed gentility to the entire process."

"Indeed," Bruce said, then had to stifle a sigh of gratitude as Lois appeared by his arm.

"Lady Ravenswalk!" Lois said, her voice bright. Her eyes sparkled with humor that, Bruce knew, was at his expense. "Wonderful of you to attend my little gathering." She gestured toward the ballroom, filled with, Bruce guessed, several hundred people.

"We could not possibly have dreamed of missing it, Lady Kent," the viscountess said.

"Of course not," Lois said. "But I’m afraid I must steal the earl away from you. I simply must introduce him to their graces, the Duke and Duchess of Kent. My husband has declared that his father would never forgive him if I let Lord Gotham get away without letting his grace talk to him about his racing stock." Lois rolled her eyes conspiratorily at Lady Ravenswalk, as if to say: Men and their horses – how can a woman understand the obsession? Lady Ravenswalk gave an understanding, if disappointed, nod.

Lacing her arm through his, Lois pulled Bruce away from the curtseying viscountess and daughters. Once out of earshot of the ladies, Bruce said, "I do believe that you have saved me from a tortuous, lingering death."

"You and my husband are not the only unacknowledged heroes in London, Bruce. We wives also do our part to save lives." She sniffed. "I just do it with more style and better clothing. Not that you would notice."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Are you hinting that I’ve been remiss in complimenting you in your dress tonight, Lois?" He glanced at her gown, a dark green silk confection in the latest fashion. "If so, then let me say now that you look magnificent."

Lois’s laughter rang out over the crowd, but when she spoke her voice was low. "No, I merely meant that you deliberately eschew any sense of fashion when playing the hero. I’ve seen you at work, you look hideous." She glanced at him, pursed her lips. "Although I must admit your taste can not be faulted right now. Alfred?"

"Alfred," Bruce confirmed.

She led him out onto a balcony; once she ascertained that no one else was outside with them, she shut the doors to the ballroom, leaving them isolated from the music and laughter.

She heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I thought I’d never get out of there for a breath of air," she said. "I felt like pretending to faint simply to escape the crush of people." She wandered over to the railing, looked out over the expanse of lawns.

Bruce followed her. "If we were discovered out here, alone, it would be quite the scandal." He frowned, and his voice changed, deepened. "You must have information for me."

Lois nodded. "Actually, more of a request than information." He could see the sudden strain on her face, the worry in her eyes. "You probably don’t remember, since you were in the country, the scandal last year when the Earl of Shattuck disowned his daughter Emily—"

"After he found her with one of the stableboys, yes," Bruce said. "I thought you had seen to her care?"

He saw her surprise that he knew those details – the actual cause of the earl's rage hadn't been well known, and Lois had been careful to hide her involvement in the woman's fate after Emily's father had thrown her out. "I did," Lois said, "I had her placed in a respectable household as a governess."

"With Mr. George Havisham," Bruce stated.

"Yes." Lois bit her lip, then continued, "But yesterday she was found, murdered, in one of the whorehouses along the Thames." She turned troubled eyes on Bruce. "I saw her only last week at the Havisham house, interviewing her for a piece about governesses for The Ladies' Gazette. I've talked to the Havishams since, but they can only tell me that she disappeared the evening before yesterday when she was taking her afternoon off."

"And you want me to find out who did it," Bruce said.

"If you can. I know it is a lot to ask, but I have a feeling that her father was involved, somehow." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He was so angry when he found her with Mark – raging. She had been engaged to the Marquis of Castleton, and of course that arrangement fell through during the scandal. I don't think that her father's rage has cooled since." Her tone became bitter. "Despite, of course, the earl's own indiscretions. He can have numerous affairs and it is perfectly acceptable, yet his daughter loses everything, even her life, because of a simple kiss."

"I'll look into it," Bruce promised. He didn't add that he would find some pleasure in questioning, and perhaps terrifying a bit, the Earl of Shattuck. The man's predilection for pain during lovemaking was well-known in London's whorehouses; even Selena, who was openminded when it came to fetishes, had forbidden him from any of her establishments.

And the earl was, Bruce knew, one of the Prime Minister's favorites. Any jab at Luthor, no matter how far removed, was worth it – especially if it brought a young woman some measure of justice.

"This looks cozy," a male voice said from behind them. Bruce didn't bother to look around. He had known Clark was there; had heard the other man when he'd landed on the balcony.

He found it easier not to question how Clark could land on the balcony. "Kent," he said. "Your wife was just telling me about your plan to get Shattuck drunk tonight, and soundly beat him in a few rounds of whist."

Clark gazed at him levelly through his spectacles. "Meaning, I suppose, that whatever you have planned for him would be better performed if he has a sore head and lighter pockets?"

"The sore head will be useful, but the contents of the pockets will be donated toward the cost of his daughter's very extravagant funeral, with the remainder going to—"

"The House of Athena," Lois broke in.

Bruce nodded. "Athena," he agreed. He switched to his society voice, and turned to Lois. "I believe the waltz is going to be next. Be my partner and spare me the agony of falling prey to a calculating miss and her mama, and forced to twirl and twirl to sound of inane chatter."

Lois tapped her fan against his arm. "I will agree if you will tell me everything you know about this rumor circulating among the servants and underclasses: is there really a mysterious, indecently clothed woman playing the heroine on the streets of London? I'm dying of curiosity. I would never report such trash in the Gazette, but if there really is a woman out there…" Her voice trailed off.

"If so, I have not encountered her," Bruce said truthfully. He didn’t mention that he had a suspicion that it was a woman he knew very well – Selena. But there were some things, many things, that he didn’t share with the Kents, who probably knew more about him than anyone. He added dryly, "I'm more inclined to believe that the myth began with men besotted with too much drink and women. They've started calling her 'Wonder Woman,' but probably in the sense of: 'I wonder if she's really here?' or, 'I wonder why she isn't wearing any clothes, and will my wife find out about this hallucination?'"

Laughing, Lois linked arms with both men and re-entered the ballroom. An unusually quiet ballroom.

Looking immediately for the source of the disturbance, hoping it wasn't another madman, jokester or prankster, Bruce instead saw that everyone was staring at a woman.

Beside him, Lois froze, her eyes on the same woman. "She came." She looked at Clark. "You had something to do with this."

Kent shrugged. "I overheard the Duchess of Langley claim that you would never be London's premier hostess. So I thought that an appearance by London's most sought-after guest, and most mysterious citizen, would increase your status in her estimation."

Lois blinked unbelievingly. "I should not care about such a shallow distinction – London's premier hostess, indeed! – but—" she grinned up at her husband "—thank you anyway."

She dragged Kent with her toward the woman, along with Bruce, whose arm was still linked with hers. It had taken him only moments to realize who the woman was, even though he hadn't seen her before: Princess Diana of Themyscira, rumored to have come from an island populated entirely by women.

Bruce doubted that; he assumed the rumor had started in malicious response to the princess's feminist efforts since reaching England. Many men – and women – didn't appreciate the princess's politics and activities, and took the opportunity to malign her character whenever possible, despite the distinct probability of them never having met her. Suggesting that she had grown up on an island full of women – and therefore suggesting that the princess was, at the very least, the offspring of an impossible sexual union – was simply another method of trying to destroy her character.

After tonight, the gossip about the princess would increase, but most likely would become less concerned with her politics, if not less spiteful. The princess’s beauty would be utmost in the minds of the fickle ton. At least for a little while, Bruce thought. He could see the dumbstruck expressions of the men, the envious glances of the women. Awe and jealousy would make the princess the talk of society for weeks to come – the men and women would discuss her beauty and her money, and the jealous would speak about how unfashionable she was, even as they gave new orders to their dressmakers.

Yes, Bruce mused cynically, London’s modistes would soon be richer for the princess’s appearance.

Unlike the typical, pastel gowns of the unmarried women present, the princess had opted for a dark blue Greek chiton that she had belted closely to her waist with lengths of white ribbon, emphasizing her slim form in a manner that reminded him of Italian paintings of mythological figures. And, he noted, except for the hair swept up into her tiara, her curls were unbound, spilling down her back like waves of black silk. That would certainly send the matrons a-titter, declaring the princess positively indecent.

God knew, the sensuality of it would make the men take notice, if they hadn’t already.

As he was drawn closer, he could see that her eyes were a pale blue that reminded him of the glaciers he had seen far to the north on his travels. Eyes that were, he realized with some unease, looking warmly at Kent. He glanced back and forth between the princess and Clark, examining them both for signs of any particular regard. He remembered Lois mentioning that it had been Clark that had convinced the princess to come to the ball, and he wondered exactly what the relationship between the two was.

He couldn’t detect any anxiety or jealousy on Lois’s face, but it was obvious that there was more between the marquis and the princess than usually transpired in a relationship between married man and an unmarried woman.

"Your highness," Lois greeted her warmly, and dropped into a deep curtsy. "I am overwhelmed with pleasure that you have decided to attend our function."

The princess returned Lois's smile, and said in a lightly accented voice, "Lady Kent, we've met on far too many occasions for you to curtsy to me now."

Lois stood, reached forward to clasp the other woman's hand in her own, squeezing it gently. "And we have met far too many times for you to continue calling me 'Lady Kent'. It is Lois," she said, and the crowd around them began to murmur. Lady Kent and the princess were familiar with each other, and Lady Kent was being impertinent enough to offer her given name – in front of everyone? Shocking, indeed.

Bruce tried to hide his grin.

There was a collective gasp at the princess's response. "Only if you call me Diana," she replied, and Bruce was struck by the genuineness of the offer, the kindness in the princess's reply. He knew plenty of other women and men without so high a status that would have snubbed Lois publicly, even if they had been friendly in private.

Lois blushed slightly, not missing the implications of the princess's offer – it was a high honor indeed. She turned to Clark, who was watching his wife with pride and love. "Clark, you know Diana," Lois stumbled over the princess's name slightly.

Clark bowed his head. "Your highness. I'm glad you could attend."

Diana blinked, then gave a little laugh. "Don't tell me that I have to endure this 'your highness' stuff with you, too."

"There are reasons for it," Clark said quietly, bending to kiss the princess's knuckles. Bruce barely heard his whisper, and knew that the crowd around them definitely had not. "Propriety."

Understanding flitted across Diana's features as she looked from Clark, then to the crowd. "I won't pretend to understand it, Lord Kent, but I'll follow the rules." Her voice was as quiet as his, and her teeth flashed suddenly. "For today."

"Wonderful, your highness," Clark said at a normal volume. He stepped back, gestured to Bruce. "I would like to introduce my friend to you: Bruce Wayne, Earl of Gotham."

Diana held her gloved hand out to Bruce, and said with a small nod, "Delighted, my lord."

Bruce flashed his most charming smile, pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. The matrons around them began murmuring again.

Lord Gotham was, after all, rather scandalous.

Diana pulled her hand away after several moments, an amused smile on her face. "Lord Gotham, as Cla—Lord Kent just reminded me, we must observe the proprieties."

He matched her expression. "But, your highness, I thought that you were one who would like to dispense with all proprieties," he said. "After all, aren't you the one who wants the men of England to be ground beneath the heel of its women?"

Another gasp from the crowd, and from Lois. Even Clark frowned. "Gotham, I don't think that—"

With an arched eyebrow, Diana interrupted him. Her eyes twinkled with humor. "Who is to say that the men of England wouldn't find that they like that position?"

A few uneasy titters sounded from the onlookers. Lois rushed to assure the princess, and the crowd around them, before women started swooning. "Diana, please forgive Lord Gotham's impertinence. He is the most trying of friends at the best of times." She paused to throw a glare at Bruce, he looked back at her innocently. "Indeed, I know that he supports your cause, and knows that it is not the subjugation of men that you seek, but equality between men and women." Another glare, answered by another innocent look. "He has helped me many times with relevant articles about equality in The Ladies' Gazette."

Bruce's grin widened. "Helped her by being an example of what equality and women's rights don't look like." He saw Diana's lips twitch, but her face remained composed. He lifted his eyebrows, adopted his most devilish look.

Behind them, fans began to flutter and smelling salts were obtained by the servants in case of a faint. This exchange had become almost too much for the ton. Something would have to give, soon.

It was Lois. In a near panic, she pushed Clark toward Diana, and lifted her hand, signaling the orchestra to begin the waltz. The first strains sounded, and Lois said brightly, "Oh, they've started the music again. Clark, why don't you and Diana begin the first waltz?" It worked – drawn by the music and the promise of dancing, most of their observers began filing toward the ballroom floor.

Remembering the initial sense he'd had that Clark and Diana were already too close, Bruce stepped forward. "But Lord Kent should dance the first waltz with his wife, and the hostess. I'll be happy to take his place, however." Lois paled, so he added, "It would be the proper thing to do." And if he danced with the princess, he might be able to ascertain exactly what her relationship with Clark was.

Obviously torn, Lois looked from Bruce to Clark to Diana. "No, Lord Gotham, I don't think that would be a good idea—" She broke off, and a relieved smile touched her lips. "In any case, I've just realized that Diana can not yet dance a waltz. She has not received permission."

"Permission?" Diana looked at Lois in surprise. "To dance? Permission from whom?"

"From the elder ladies of society," Lois said. "Everyone must receive permission first."

Diana nodded. "Well, if that is the way it must be, I will not argue." She turned to Bruce. "I apologize then – for although you obviously have permission, it seems as if I do not."

Unpleased that his plan to dance with her and gather information had failed, he said the one thing that he calculated would raise her ire. "Oh, I don't need to have permission. I'm a man," he grinned.

Diana's eyes widened, and she turned to Lois, who was groaning under her breath, swearing to do Bruce bodily harm. "Is this true?"

"Yes, but—"

Diana's lips firmed. "Dance with your husband, then, so that the proprieties are observed." She stepped forward, took Bruce's arm. "Lord Gotham and I will dance the waltz."

"Tell Lois I promise to be good," he said under his breath as he passed by Clark, who was trying to reassure his wife. No one but Clark could have heard him, but he saw Diana give him a curious glance out of the corner of her eye. He smiled, and led her onto the dance floor.

Once there, she looked at his raised arms blankly.

"You don't know how to dance the waltz, do you?" he guessed.

A rueful smile spread over her mouth. She had beautiful lips, he realized. Full, and deeply red without a hint of the cosmetics that some of the other women wore. "I should probably have observed the proprieties myself," she said, "and saved us some embarrassment. My mother always told me that I was too impetuous, and too quick to make a point."

"I can feign illness and we'll make a hasty exit…" he began, but trailed off when he saw how she was watching the other dancers, staring at their feet and movements as if memorizing them. If he thought she was beautiful when she smiled, she was stunning when she focused on something. Her eyes burned with intensity, her brows lowered, her lips parted slightly.

He saw the moment she understood the dance, heard her triumphant whisper of "Tsang's third defense."

Bruce blinked, glanced from the dancers to Diana and back. She was right: the dancers steps were exactly like a sequence out of a Chinese martial art – but why would a princess from a Greek island know of such an obscure fighting style?

"I'm ready to dance now," she announced.

Bruce blinked again. And how did she expect to learn the waltz so quickly, when it took most men and women hours upon hours of practicing before getting it? He braced himself for bruised toes, but prepared to comply with her wishes.

She raised her arms expectantly, and as he swept her into the first turn he was surprised yet again. She was light on her feet, and moved so quickly and effortlessly in time with the music that he began to think that she might have been playing with him. But no, she was watching the other dancers as the twirled around the ballroom, and she finally gave a satisfied nod.

"I'm doing it correctly," she said.

"Beautifully," he agreed, and pulled her a little closer to him, but careful to maintain a respectable distance from her. His hand was on her waist, cool silk of her chiton warmed by her body, and…He stumbled, quickly caught his footing.

She wasn't wearing undergarments. He could feel the taut muscles of her waist and her back under his hand – she didn't have an ounce of spare flesh on her. Nor did she have on the standard corset worn by every other woman in the room.

The crowded, stifling ballroom suddenly seemed to increase in temperature by ten degrees, and combined with the intoxicating scent of her perfume and twirling he began to feel a little lightheaded.

"Are you feeling all right?" She was watching him carefully, and he forced himself to ignore physical sensations, to think about why he'd offered to dance with her.

"Wonderful," he smiled, and added, "You seem to be well acquainted with Lord and Lady Kent."

Diana nodded. They danced past the two he'd just mentioned, and he gave Lois a reassuring glance. Lois narrowed her eyes at him. "I have gotten to know them well through the House of Athena," Diana said, mentioning the controversial women's house that she had established when she had moved to London. "Lois has often come to interview me or the women, and Clark is one of my staunchest supporters in the House of Lords. We've had discussions often."

He noted her casual use of Clark's name, but didn't comment on it. "So you are friends with Kent as well?" He kept his voice light, curious.

"Very good friends," Diana said, but he couldn't decide if there was more behind her comment or not. She pulled back, looked him squarely in his face. "Are you interrogating me about my relationship with Clark, Lord Gotham?"

He could barely contain his look of surprise. She was certainly blunt, a trait nearly unheard of in the upper classes. Most members of society took so much time and pride in their subtlety that nothing of importance was often said, and nothing decided upon.

He countered her accusation with a rakish smirk. "I'm simply finding out where your affections lay, your highness," he said smoothly. "Since I intend to secure them for myself."

She laughed, and heads turned. She didn't laugh delicately like most women at a ball, but deeply, as if she genuinely thought something funny. "Oh, my lord," she said eventually, "My affections are reserved for the women and children of London."

"And not one poor bachelor?" He grinned down at her. "I am an orphan, you know."

Her face became serious, and she stared at him thoughtfully. "In that case, we may have some room at the House of Hera," she mentioned the orphanage that was being built on the outskirts of London, "Once it opens, of course."

She was teasing him, he realized, and suddenly decided that he liked her very much. "Would you be my mother and my teacher?" He said, equally serious, as if considering the idea. "And I wouldn't be beaten by a large women named Madge, I hope?"

"There is a thin one named Madge," Diana said, "But she's already told me that her philosophy in raising children is to feed them gruel twice a day and make them work in the gardens for the remainder of their hours." She gave him a sympathetic glance. "I don't think she'd beat you, though."

"You wouldn't beat me either, would you?" He couldn't resist teasing her back.

She gave him a suggestive wink. "If you asked me to, Lord Gotham."

He could barely keep his mouth from dropping open. He stumbled again and had to stop – luckily the waltz was over, and his awkward movements weren't registered by the onlookers.

But Diana felt them, and she laughed again. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. Everyone here is so outrageously proper, but you seem different. Selena told me you were, and I'm glad that she was right in this instance."

"Selena?" Bruce choked. Diana placed her arm in the crook of his elbow, and he numbly began to walk back toward the Kents, who were waiting at the edge of the dance floor.

Diana nodded, and he wanted to ask her more, but Clark was already in the process of introducing the princess to Lord Benson.

How did Diana, Princess of Themyscira, know Selena Kyle, London's most infamous madam—and Bruce's former mistress?